Chronicles
by Sandwich Shop Mayo
Summary: Our bodies might die, but our words stay alive.


_A while ago Laurie Holden said Andrea keeps a journal, and we saw a picture of her writing on it in one of the promo pictures. I don't know, this just came to mind yesterday and I started writing and now I ended up with this. It's mostly based on speculation, and it's kinda dark, but if you can get through it, enjoy it and let me know what you think!_

* * *

She could count with the fingers of one hand how many times she'd experienced heartbreak.

Finding out Santa Claus wasn't real. That had taken a number.

She'd been merely 6. Some girl at school just walked up to her randomly and told her the truth. Andrea hadn't believed her, but later that day she went home, and when she confronted her parents, they didn't deny it. Her parents had always been very progressive, liberal, people of science. Maybe they thought that at that young age she was ready for the truth. She hadn't been.

She wished they'd lied to her a little bit longer.

At the age of 8, she'd developed a crush on a little boy named Marco who showed up at her school unexpectedly, right in the middle of the year.

He had dark hair and even darker eyes, and spoke with a Spanish accent. He wasn't like the other boys. He was kind, gentle. He never pushed her down on the playground or accused her of having cooties. He was cute, funny, and constantly told her how pretty she was.

Six months later he was gone, his father stationed in another city, or another country, she never found out. Her mother held her as she cried, telling her Marco might be back some day, that some day their paths might cross again.

She knew better.

Her best friend in the world moved away when she was 12.

No amount of begging stopped it. Her best friend, who had grown up in the house next to hers. Gone away because of the changing economy. Her best friend who knew everything about her, had been practically her twin. Torn away when she needed a friend the most. She never did have a close friend after that. Making best friends is nearly impossible when you're a teenager, and everyone else she dismissed afterwards, because that trauma of losing made her paranoid and stand offish.

When Amy died she died, too. She was still dead. Amy took most of her to her grave. She still lived, and breathed, and got up every morning. But the Andrea that existed before Amy's death was gone, never to return.

And then when she was betrayed once again. Once again. When once again he fooled her like a piece of shit and threatened the only people she still loved, she saw blood.

* * *

Before Philip could get the chance to press his hidden gun to Rick's forehead, she had a knife pressed to his throat.

And she wanted to sink it in. She wanted to sink it in so bad her hand trembled and her eyes pooled with tears. She'd never felt such an anger before, such ire and bitterness and the moment she pressed that knife to his throat, that's when she died a last time.

She breathed hard, her eyes narrowed down to that tiny bit of skin where the tip of her blade met his skin. No one talked, no one breathed, no one moved for several seconds. But when his eyes drifted down to her she knew this was the end.

"Do you have any idea what's gonna happen the minute we get back to Woodbury?" he told her menacingly, and she found his threat did nothing. Meant nothing. Because he had already killed her and no amount of physical pain could ever match the death of her soul, of her humanity.

"I don't care," she told him. And she really didn't. She really didn't because this was the last time. The last time she would endure heartache and she only had to endure it long enough to see the people she loved get to safety. Without taking her eyes off of him she pleaded, "Rick, go."

And yet no one moved. No one spoke. Philip's eyes were on her, and they were both fiery and icy in a way that told her she was in deep shit. Deep fucking shit. But she didn't care.

Finally, Rick's voice filled the air. "Andrea, put the knife down."

She couldn't believe it was Rick begging her to back down. Rick. Rick who only two days ago was roughing her up and throwing her around the prison grounds because he thought she was such a terrible person she had it in her to betray him. Rick, the man who abandoned her. Rick, who then didn't trust her when she came back. Rick, who had asked her to risk her life to sneak him into Woodbury. Rick. Now asking her to be the rational one.

The aura in Philip's eyes changed and she saw him leeching once again. Trying to manipulate and deceive. She wouldn't allow him to, not anymore.

"Maybe you should listen to him. Hmm?" Philip said, his voice soft and tender. But she was no longer a fool. She'd eaten his lies in hopes that she could save the innocent people of Woodbury and her family back at the prison. But she was done with it. Done with his bullshit. She clutched the knife tighter. "Look, Andrea, you got us this far. We're here in the same room, aren't we? We're here to talk. He doesn't want you dead and trust me, I don't want you dead, either. So why don't you put the knife down and I promise, we'll talk. Right, Rick?"

She couldn't see the look on Rick's face, she couldn't face him. He stood next to her, but her eyes remained on Philip's throat, with her knife pressed to it. And all she wanted was to sink it right in.

"Right," Rick said but she knew right away it was bullshit. Bullshit. She was done with all this bullshit. Done with being lied to, being deceived, conned. Done with the Governor's lies and she didn't give a shit about what Rick had to say. She was done.

"Andrea, put the knife down, and we'll sit down and talk," Rick said softly. She knew what he was trying to do. He wanted the Governor dead just as much as she did, but he was trying to save her life.

But what good was her life anymore? She didn't belong in Woodbury and the group had written her off. Michonne hated her. Amy was gone. What good was her life?

"There's no talking," she said coldly. "I'm _done_. I'm done with both of you. Rick, get Daryl and Hershel and _go_."

That's when the Governor knew he had her. And she knew what would happen. But she didn't care. He smiled slowly and looked towards the other man and she didn't care anymore. Philip merely grinned and said, "Well, go on, _Rick._ The lady just gave you your free get out of jail card. So to speak."

But still, Rick didn't move and she felt like pressing the knife to _his_ throat instead. She was sacrificing her life for him, and he was just standing there like a fool?

"Rick get the _hell _out of here! Go!" The words came out so loud she was sure everyone heard her outside. It was only then that Rick moved, but only slowly, dragging his feet back reluctantly.

"Andrea-" he tried for the last time.

"_Go_."

And she knew he was going to spend the next few days agonizing over her death, but he'd get over it quickly. In two days the group wouldn't give a shit anymore. He'd deliver a speech about how she'd once been special, or maybe he wouldn't deliver a speech at all. She didn't matter to them anymore, but they mattered enough to her to do this.

The second Rick closed the door behind him, the Governor's fist came hard upon her face and she was gone.

* * *

When she came to, hours later, or days, who knows, there was darkness.

She felt a dull ache, but wasn't surprised. She almost welcomed it, because it meant she was still alive.

But the ache wasn't only on her face. There was another ache on her chest, over her ribs, in the space between her legs. It didn't take a genius, to figure out what he had done to her. Her wrists ached and she knew right away she was bound. She smelled her own blood, her own body fluids, his, too, and a voice inside her head told her to wake and rise, but another voice added, _don't bother._

She went back into the darkness, and when she returned she didn't know how much time had passed. But there was a door opening, a presence in the room. She tried to focus on the body in front of her, didn't care if he was coming in to end her or not. Dead or alive she was dead anyway.

"I'm gonna be in trouble for this."

Her vision was blurred and there was a ringing in her ears but she recognized the voice as Martinez's.

"Can you hear me?"

The words were slow to reach her, and she tried to nod but didn't know if she actually did.

"Good. I don't have much time. Listen Andrea," he said hurriedly. "He's... he's gone insane. He's... I can't get you out of here. He'll kill me. But I can't let him do this to you anymore."

He may as well be speaking Chinese. She understood some of the individual words, but put together they were just a slur.

"You have to go."

_Go_. She got that one. Go. And she nearly laughed. Go where? Go into the woods to be devoured? Go to the prison to be sent back? Go?

"I have my bat. Do you think you can get up? Maybe swing it a bit?"

She pressed her eyes shut, wondering if this was a hallucination, a dream. She couldn't feel her body. She felt a few of the aches, but she couldn't feel her hands. She'd lost circulation to most of her extremities, so much so that when he finally cut her binds she collapsed onto the ground and didn't even bother complaining when her body hit the floor.

"Shit."

She felt his hands on her, on her face, on her arms. He was patient, he waited. But she could also tell, in her haze, that he was in a hurry.

"Andrea come on, we don't have much time. You have to get up."

It was maybe that urgency, that adrenaline in him that had her opening her eyes. He stood above her, shaking her, and with a look of worry that made her want to reach for some kind of energy. She found some of it, and gripped his arm.

"Are you listening to me?"

She only had enough energy to nod.

"Okay," he breathed. "You need to leave, but I need to make it look like you took me out," Martinez said. "I can't hit myself. Can you swing at me?"

Swing. Really? She could barely blink. "No."

"You have to try. You have to _do_ it," he said. "You have to get to the prison. That's all you have to do. They'll take you in. They'll keep you safe. You're not safe here anymore."

The prison, she thought. The last time she got to the prison, they were hostile. Rick left bruises on her skin. And she had to come right back to Woodbury to find another way.

"Come on," Martinez urged her. He sounded so worried. So worried that she finally tried. But she couldn't. "Here."

He handed her his bat but she was so tired, so bruised, so in pain she could barely lift it.

"Come on," he insisted. "Right here." Pointed a finger to a spot on his head. "Just swing as hard as you can. Just hard enough to take me out. Then run. Take the bat with you. Milton's waiting by the fence. He'll let you out. All you have to do is swing."

She tried to focus on the spot on his head, but she was seeing double. She tried to stand, but she was dizzy and nauseous and nearly fell. "Can't."

"You _have_ to."

She let the bat drop and fell on her knees, knowing it didn't matter anymore. "S'alright, Martinez."

"_No_," he said stubbornly and she didn't know why. She didn't know why he was doing this. Why did he care? She'd failed Woodbury and she'd failed the prison. But there was a passion in his voice as he cupped her face. "Look at me, Andrea," he said and she felt the tears prickle. "I can't watch you go out like this."

Some of her energy came back, but not enough. Her face hurt, her ribs hurt, she knew she couldn't make it out there, with the woods and all the walkers. She knew he was trying to save her, but he was essentially sending her out there to die.

"Come on, Andrea. You can do it. Just swing. Swing as hard as you can."

She gripped the bat, tried to lift it, but it hurt. Everything hurt and she could barely see straight.

"Pretend I'm him. Take him out, Andrea. Right here. _Swing_."

That's all he had to say. That's all she needed to hear to summon some energy and try.

And then she did.

And Martinez's body collapsed upon the floor.

* * *

It wasn't just Milton waiting for her by the gates.

Doc Stevens stood there with him.

Milton was all nerves as he looked all around, making sure no one saw him. Stevens was more practical. She handed Andrea several bottles of water and painkillers, "to see you through the journey," but Andrea felt like she was going on a suicide mission. The sun was creeping up, and she didn't have much time.

She knew the journey to the prison, but her head was clouded, her body weak, and everywhere she turned there were walkers. She used Martinez's bat as best as she could but she was too slow and before she knew it, she knew she was being hunted. She tried to hide as best she could several times, but it was futile. It was like he could smell her, could feel her.

She kept on walking, running a little bit when she could, hiding when she couldn't. He was near her. And she knew he was playing. He was letting her get as far as she could. It was a game to him. She could practically picture his smile as he hunted. Maybe he'd even let her get to the prison, so he could kill her in front of everyone. It was the type of thing she now knew he would do.

She tried, really tried, to hide. And when he was close enough she tried to feed herself to a walker.

But before she could he had her pressed against him, his mouth next to her ear as he shot the walker, and groped her chest.

"Where you flying off to, little birdie?"

* * *

Michonne was on her way out the gates before Milton even finished the sentence. Daryl was right at her heels. Rick tried to be the rational one, but even he debated himself.

He knew he couldn't stop Michonne. Daryl, he might've been able to argue with Daryl. But his own resolve was weak. He knew they shouldn't trust this Milton guy, but what if he was saying was true...

If what the Governor was doing to Andrea was true...

He couldn't just sit and let it happen.

And he needed, _needed_, to take that piece of shit out once and for all. This was it. It was the last stand and it wouldn't take place at the prison.

He'd kill that bastard in his own home.

Merle volunteered as well. Because even Merle couldn't stand by and "let that piece of shit do that to Blondie."

Getting there was easy. They used Milton as leverage. With Michonne's sword pressed to Milton's neck, they were allowed into Woodbury. Just the three of them, Rick, Daryl, Michonne. Merle devised some kind of plan to sneak in and try to find Andrea.

But the Governor was smarter. Without batting an eyelash he aimed his gun, and then Milton was gone.

And then silence. Rick's pulse accelerated, knowing they were now at a disadvantage. He looked around the people, the people of Woodbury. Scared faces, innocent faces. Children crying and clutching to their mothers. Women weeping, weeping for Milton, looking at the Governor, terrified. These were the people. The people Andrea wanted to protect. Women. Children. Older people. People who didn't know, had been lied to by the Governor just like he'd lied to Andrea.

For the first time he couldn't imagine how he had planned to sneak in and destroy all of Woodbury, kill children. For the first time he understood why Andrea had tried so hard to bring peace to both communities. If only they'd listened. It didn't have to come down to this.

It happened fast. Before he knew it he was on his knees. The Governor seized Michonne's katana and Rick knew what would happen then. He wouldn't get to see Carl and Judith again.

He'd see Lori, though. But that did very little to comfort him.

The Governor was speaking, but he couldn't hear it. Michonne's face remained stoic, resigned. Some of the more ruthless residents shouted for her head.

"These are the people who killed Andrea," he said, and Rick saw red. He'd lied to them about Andrea, too, and just bringing that up made everyone angrier. Andrea had been their protector, and she had been loved by everyone in Woodbury. Now they wanted revenge, revenge for Andrea.

It happened fast. One second the sword was glimmering in the moonlight...

The next second there was a gunshot, a bullet straight through the Governor's hand.

And then panic. People running. More shots. Rick looked up quickly just in time to see Merle, Tyreese, Sasha... and Andrea, firing down on everyone.

Daryl was dragging him to his feet and they ran.

Rick looked up once more, and suddenly a bullet pierced Andrea's head and she fell over the wall.

* * *

Michonne was like an animal, shaking, her eyes wide and wild. They walked the outside perimeter, looking for the body. The people continued to scream inside the walls.

Outside the walls, nothing.

No Andrea.

"The walkers must've gotten to her," Merle said too calmly.

"No," Michonne said, pacing back and forth. Daryl knelt down to examine the ground. "She went back."

"Rick," Daryl warned him. "There's footprints."

Rick's heart wanted to jump out of his throat. His hands were shaking. He couldn't think. Was this happening? Really happening?

"She went back for him!" Michonne said, all energy and pacing. "She's alive, she went back for him."

Rick couldn't think, couldn't speak as everyone started arguing.

_Leave her._

_I'm not leaving her again._

_She's as good as dead._

_You're gonna get us killed? For all we know she's already dead._

_It's Andrea. It ain't right. _

_We're not going back._

_Then leave! I'm going for her._

"Okay, okay!" Rick finally snapped, stopping Michonne in her tracks. "You need to get back to the prison. Tyreese..."

"_No_, I'm coming with you."

"No you're not," Rick grunted at her. "I can't have you going back like this. You and Tyreese head to the prison. Daryl and I go back."

"Rick, do we even know-"

"She's alive," Rick said with conviction. "Michonne's right. She went back for him. We don't know her physical state. We don't know if she'll be able to do it. We have to help her. We have to end this, _right now_."

Michonne stared at him, her hands still trembling. Finally she realized he was right, and Merle and Tyreese were pulling her away. Rick nodded at her, an indication that he'd try his best. But he wasn't sure what they would find, a dead Governor or a dead Andrea.

After the panic, sneaking in was easy. The residents were all inside their homes, scared. The Governor's goons were making house calls. With the vague recollection of where the Governor's house was, they both quietly made it there. Only before they could sneak in,

"Hey."

They both immediately turned around to aim their weapons at Martinez, but he merely held his hands up defensively. "Just get her out of here."

"Is she in there?" Rick asked, his gun aimed straight at Martinez's head.

"I don't know. If she's not there check the cells," Martinez said. Suddenly he didn't look mean or menacing, just tired. And Rick realized they were all just tired. They all just wanted this to end. "Just get her out. And don't ever come back here again. You keep your prison. I keep the town. That's it. I don't give a shit about you people. If you kill him, if he's out, we're fine."

Martinez merely turned around and walked away, and Rick looked at Daryl, wondering if this was a trick. If maybe there was an army waiting for them inside, waiting to surprise them. Take them out. They didn't know with the Governor anymore.

Daryl opened the door, and Rick sneaked inside. The house was quiet, dark, so eerie it made the hairs of his arms stand on end. They moved slowly, checking every room. The town was so quiet they could hear the crickets outside.

The room to the study was slightly ajar, and as Rick approached it his heart beat impossibly faster. He pushed at it slowly, and didn't have to wait long to see what was inside.

The minute he saw, his face pained, and he lowered his gun.

"_Andrea_."

She sat on the floor, her body covered in blood. Next to her, the Governor's body, bleeding and mangled. Rick winced and behind him he heard Daryl cringe a, "Jesus fucking Christ."

She'd hacked off the Governor's arm. His body was filled with stab wounds. He was lying in a pool of blood, and the area between his legs was just a mess of guts. She'd cut him open in several other places, too. She may as well had turned him inside out. Rick could barely stand the sight of it, but she merely sat there, peacefully, every inch of her body covered in blood. Her blood, his blood, it didn't matter. She was alive, and that's all he cared about.

Daryl couldn't stand it, couldn't force himself to get near. She'd practically butchered the Governor to pieces, and the sight was nauseating.

But Rick approached her slowly. Her eyes were icy, her stare stoic, and suddenly he feared for his own safety. There was a large cut on the side of her face and another one on her forehead from when the bullet hit her. Blood continued to pour out of both wounds. She held a hatchet in her hand, and Rick reached for it slowly. She offered no resistance when he took it away, and he reluctantly came down to her level.

"Andrea."

She didn't move an inch. Didn't even blink. She continued to stare at the Governor's body and he looked at Daryl for moral support, but the hunter merely uttered a _fuck_ and looked away.

"Andrea," he offered again and didn't wait for a response. "Come on. We have to go."

Her eyes pooled with tears, though she still didn't move, and her mouth moved several times before she was finally able to utter, "not done."

Rick reached for her arms and the fact that she didn't fly off the handle encouraged him to help her onto her feet. "Come on."

"No," she whimpered.

"It's over," he reassured her.

"_No_," she said again. He was able to get her on her feet, but the minute he tried to drag her away, she fought him. "No."

"Andrea, we have to go."

"I'm not done!" she cried.

"It's okay," he reassured her.

"No!"

He had to drag her away, but she fought with him, trying to go back. "Andrea, it's over."

"I'm not done!"

"You can't kill him anymore," he told her hurriedly, grabbing her by the arms and making her look at him. "And we have to leave. _Now_."

She continued to say _no, no, no_ all the way but with Daryl's help he was able to get out.

As they left Woodbury and she continued to bleed she kept whispering.

Nothing that was coming out of her mouth made sense.

And Rick knew he'd found her, but he'd found her broken.

* * *

When the days passed and they didn't hear from Woodbury anymore, Rick was finally able to breathe.

They'd lost Axel, but at least the rest of them had been spared. The fences were being re-built, Tyreese became a formidable force within the group, and even Merle had mellowed somewhat (although there were still outbursts of anger that he'd have to deal with Daryl later, but for the moment, nothing too worrying).

He'd taken to visiting her cell twice daily. It was no use. She just slept. Day and night. Hershel had patched her up as best as he could, but there were too many cuts and bruises. One of her ribs was broken. He'd had to stop Hershel from listing all her injuries because he couldn't hear it. The thought of what she'd been through in Woodbury, for _them_, made him nauseous and several times he lay in bed at night thinking about it, and he'd have to retrieve to the toilets to throw up.

Carol sat there with her. Rick had decided she should stay with Carol. Beth and Maggie took over Judith while Carol tended to Andrea. Every time he walked into that cell he walked in with high hopes that she might be awake, finally eating. But each time she just lay there curled on her cot, with Carol running her hand through her tendrils.

Carol smiled up at him sadly. "She managed a spoonful today."

He looked at the full bowl of soup on the small table. A spoonful was probably just 7 calories, but it was 7 calories more than the day before and he was glad.

"Why don't you just take the afternoon off?"

She looked up at him. "Are you sure?"

"I'll stay with her."

He didn't want her to stay alone, even though she slept, because he had been a cop, and he knew what would happen now. Andrea was a ticking time bomb, and the moment the nightmares began, he wasn't sure how they'd be able to handle her.

Part of him hoped that her strength would see her through this, but what the Governor had done to her... he wasn't sure the strongest person on Earth could get over it.

He sat in the chair Carol had occupied and watched her. Her stomach rose and fell with each breath. The scar on her cheek was covered in gauze, but the one on her forehead was exposed. It'd only been a scratch, but that one would scar, too.

He watched her, and once again his mind went back to their confrontation with the Governor, when he'd fooled her into thinking he wanted to negotiate, talk. When she'd pressed that knife to the Governor's throat, did she know this would happen?

Of course she did. But she did it anyway. Maybe she didn't think it would be this severe. Or maybe she thought he'd just put a bullet through her head. But she still did it, she did it to save their lives. He couldn't even look at her, or think about her, without feeling guilty. The group felt appreciative now, sure, but it was too late. They should've tried harder when she came by that first time. He should've sat with her. Why didn't he? She had all the information that he needed and instead of talking, he'd merely shoved her around. All this could've been avoided, she would be safe, if he'd just stop to get his shit together and think.

_No use feeling guilty_, Carol would say. _It happened and at least she's still alive._ But how was she alive? She couldn't eat, she couldn't stay awake longer than 15 minutes. She wouldn't talk. When she was awake her eyes were different, gone, like there was no one in there.

He sighed, fearing for her and their future. What if they had to leave the prison today? They wouldn't be able to take her. She wouldn't survive a day out there. They'd have to leave her behind and he'd have to live the rest of his days with that guilt.

Hershel wasn't making things easier with his prognosis. "She went from not being able to hurt a fly to butchering a man in cold blood," he'd said. "With therapy it would still take her years to recover. Without therapy..."

He looked around the room, his eyes settling on her green bag, at the end of her bed. He smiled. That green bag. He couldn't believe she still carried it. She had it in Atlanta, had it at the farm, and still had it in Woodbury and now the prison.

He reached for it, wondering what in the hell was so important that she couldn't leave behind. There were a few toiletries inside. Her wallet. She actually had her wallet. He opened it, smiling at the Florida driver's license. She was smiling in the picture, bright and merry and beautiful with her hair in rivulets and a touch of make up. She had a few dollars, credit cards, her social security card. Pictures of family members and friends, pictures of a dog. He smiled at it and closed it, and when he put it inside he found something else, a book.

Only when he retrieved it he realized it wasn't a book. It was a journal. She'd been keeping a journal.

Leave it to Andrea to write her way through the apocalypse, and yet it seemed fascinating that she was. Future generations would read this and get to know her. The rest of them, when their deaths come no one will remember them.

But this journal... Rick smiled. Future generations will know about Andrea. The full impact of it made him realize how strong she was, how smart, and how much he was taking her for granted. The rest of them were too worried about the now. Andrea, on the other hand, was always thinking about the future, about the day the world would come back. Some day this journal will become a best seller, and Andrea will live forever.

He opened it, curious. Rick knew he had no right to touch that journal. It was hers, her personal thoughts, her own journey.

But she was broken now. And he wanted to fix her. He wanted to bring her back. And so he allowed himself to open it. It didn't matter to him what she wrote about. He didn't care if he happened to stumble upon some sort of secret sexual attraction to Daryl. He needed her journal because it was the only access he had to her mind. And he needed her mind back, he needed to rescue her a second time.

The first few entries were just normal.

_Road trip with Amy. This is going to test my limits. She's already playing Justin Bieber. God, help me. Whatever happened to good music? Whatever happened to the Stones?  
_

He smiled at the entry, realizing this is who she used to be. A big sister with a pain in the ass for a little sister. Back then her only problems had been fighting in the car over who got to play the music. He glanced at her in that bed now, scared and broken, and he realized he didn't want to read most of these early entries.

He didn't feel comfortable prying. These were her intimate thoughts. So he just scanned the pages, only read whatever parts randomly jumped at him. Several parts, however, he couldn't stay away from. He'd been asleep when the virus began, and no one had really been honest with him about how it all went down. But in her journal he found truths he'd been seeking for a long time.

_People are talking about a new disease. Amy's freaking out. She's too young to remember how Sars just turned out to be much smaller than everyone thought. She wants to turn around and go back home. Honestly, this is just swine flu all over again. We're not stopping._

Rick frowned, reading the entry over and over again. This is how it began for her. How it probably began for everyone. After 9/11 there'd been such a sense of paranoia, and all that paranoia turned out to be social dramatics. Now that they were being faced with a real threat, the real end of the world, they'd apparently all treated it as gossip.

He turned a few more pages.

_Amy's scared to see so many people wearing breathing masks. I keep telling her this happens every few years; we're fine. People are getting scared, though. They keep talking about this in the news. I wish the Government would issue a statement one way or the other. The news are just exaggerating, trying to scare people. I haven't seen a single sick person. It's been two days._

Two days. He wished he could've gone back in time and warn her. Two days was too fast for a disease to spread so quickly and create such a panic. It must've felt different for her, on the road. She hadn't been stationary. She'd seen it all from a highway.

_Atlanta is a mess. People are freaking out. This is starting to scare me. I can't let it show, though. I can't scare Amy. Some people are rioting, looting. I don't get it. I haven't seen a single sick person. It just seems like people are freaking out over a rumor. They keep saying it's some kind of virus, I don't know what it means. I wish I could turn on the news on the radio, but I don't want Amy to know. I don't want her to panic. We're trying to get through the city. People are holding signs on the streets, saying it's the end of the world. I don't know what to think, I just want to get out of the city. It's not safe here. _

He felt the fright in her words, and wondered how it must've been for them. Two young girls alone, caught in the middle of the end of the world. It had to have been terrifying.

He noticed several days were missing, but then,

_We'd be dead if it wasn't for Dale. Atlanta is gone. They bombed it. We watched it burn. They said all the other cities are gone, too. People eating each other... I feel like I'm having a nightmare. I wanna wake up. I wanna go home. Been trying to call mom and dad but the lines are dead. The radio just went out. I'm scared, really scared. I want to tell Amy everything's gonna be okay, but I don't know if it will be.  
_

He couldn't believe he'd slept through that whole thing. Those first few weeks. He briefly wondered what Lori and Shane had been up to while Andrea wrote these entries. He wondered if they were still in their hometown, or trying to make it to Atlanta, or just somewhere else. He desperately scanned the pages, trying to find any entries about Lori and Carl, but only caught random glimpses of sentences. Observations that only pertained to Andrea and her world view. Random sentences here and there that jumped at him.

_Camp outside of Atlanta. Just waiting for the Government to come rescue us._

_Four days now. No rescue. _

_Keeping track of the days. September 23rd._

He'd forgotten she'd been doing that in the beginning. He wondered if she still did. He couldn't imagine that she was.

_Glenn is so funny. He's like the baby brother I always wanted.  
_

Rick smiled.

_I don't know about Merle. _

_I'm so hungry, but Amy should eat first._

_Sometimes I just want to kill that Ed guy. _

_Run to Atlanta. Doubt I'll make it back but Amy needs to eat._

This is the day he met her, the day she put a gun to his face. She'd been all fire and passion back then. To read that, and then see her in bed now made him livid.

_He found his wife and son. What are the odds? Maybe I can still find my parents?_

_Fishing felt wonderful. Tomorrow we're talking Carl to the quarry so we can teach him. _

_Amy's gone.  
_

He stopped after that entry, knowing it must've taken her so much to write that. So much to put it into words. Amy's death had killed her, and for some reason he couldn't stand the fact that in the end, Amy's death had ended up but two words in her journal.

Just two words, and the rest of the page was blank. _Amy's gone_. After everything he'd read, all the love he saw in words she had for her sister, just two words. _Amy's gone_. He'd been there, too. He'd been there when Amy died, when she sat by her little sister's body without sleep, without food or water, just waiting for her sister to come back so she could finally say goodbye. Such a horrible day, full of anguish and emotion.

Yet in the end, just two words to sum it all up.

He put the journal down and turned to her, waiting for some kind of reaction. She still slept, with the scars on her face barely healing, with her energy draining out. He sat there for a couple of hours, waiting for nothing. Every once in a while he'd call out her name, but she never moved, not an inch.

He tried to put the journal away, but found he couldn't. He wanted to see how far she'd taken it.

_I don't wanna be here anymore. I don't wanna be here. I want my mom.  
_

_I'm done. I'm gone. I can't do this anymore. I can't be here without Amy._

_They just don't see me. They all have someone. I'm just me and I'm not strong.  
_

He knew this must've been after the CDC and the road. When Dale took her gun, when her anguish made her invisible to the group. He wished now he'd paid more attention to her. He wished he'd reached out, as a friend, or even talked to her. But he was so consumed by the drama in his family, he barely even thought about her back then.

And then the next entry made no sense,

_It's a habit. This is all just a habit,_

and he knew that during her depression and her suicide attempt, she'd written very little.

But then she began again, and other sentences jumped at him:

_I'm so scared for Sophia. What if we don't find her?_

_Walk with Daryl in the woods..._

_I want my mom._

_I shot them. Right in the head. Tons of them._

_Maybe I can do it. _

_Sophia's gone. We'll all be gone, too._

He'd forgotten how it was in those days. They'd had good days, days when they thought everything would be okay, and then another curve ball would send them right back to square one. She must've been happy, finally having a purpose, having her gun. And then Sophia stumbled out of that barn, and it was all gone again.

_I don't know how to do laundry or cook and I hate that Lori hates me for it.  
_

_They just don't see Beth as a person with rights. I wish they could see how strong she actually is. They didn't see it in me. _

_Dale's gone, too. Everything goes._

_They're all gone. Just me now._

He didn't know why that one felt like a punch in the throat. He couldn't have imagined how it felt like for her, being left behind in the middle of a herd, in the pitch black of night. It'd been so easy back then, so easy to assume she was dead and move on, but knowing everything he knew now... they should've gone back for her.

_She just doesn't talk and I feel so alone. _

And then pages upon pages of full paragraphs. They went on and on for ages and he didn't blame her. Michonne wasn't particularly chatty, and Andrea was. Too chatty. She must've used her journal as a way of communicating. Most of it was just reflections, old memories. Stories about her childhood, Amy, her parents, even the group.

_I hope I can find them again some day. I miss them.  
_

And he felt like shit, because the whole time they were on the road they'd barely thought about her.

_Woke up with a fever. Out of all the ways I thought I'd go out, this was the last one I could've imagined._

_Can't walk anymore. Told Michonne to leave me behind but she won't. I'm dragging her down._

_Tonight I'll sneak out. I can't go on anymore. She doesn't deserve this. I'm just dragging her down. _

He thought about what Merle said, that when they were found, Andrea was practically dead. He'd brushed it off then, but had it really been this bad?

_Children here. Old people, too. It feels safe. _

_She left. How could she leave?  
_

_He makes me feel like I can hope and I can live. That we can save the world.  
_

_Amy would like it here. They have all 7 Harry Potter books. I wish I could get through them, but they're really not for me._

_It was Daryl. Maybe the rest are alive, too?_

And then everything changed after this. Her entries were brief, a lot of them didn't make any sense. Is this when she began her descend? When she saw Daryl? Even her handwriting changed, no more elegant cursive, just quick jabs of the pen.

_I don't know what to do. I'm scared._

_The group hates me now. I don't understand. I'm trying to help them. _

_He only lies. Just lies.  
_

Rick tried to figure out when that was written. There were no dates. But surely it must've been during that time after she came to see them.

_Tried to kill him... trying... I have to kill him.  
_

This one, he knew, was after her prison visit. Carol had been honest about her advise to Andrea. Rick had been shocked by the plan, but so blinded any type of solution he hadn't given Andrea's safety much weight.

_It's like a stain. I can't clean it. Not good with laundry.  
_

He felt sick then, realizing she'd only slept with him so she could kill him in his sleep. How many times had she tried? And how many times did he keep violating her? Messing with her? Playing games with her? He could see in her words how her mind began to tear.

_Knife to the throat, lamb to the slaughter. _

Rick frowned, trying to make sense of the words. Not that she had meant to put any sense into them, but he knew this must've been when she told him to go that day. Knife to the throat of the Governor, that turned her into the lamb going to the slaughter. He felt nauseous.

_The woods again. Prey.  
_

_The deer gets it in the end. Arrow to the neck._

_Can't run. Can't reach the prison. Back to the pit._

For pages upon pages there was nothing, and he knew, this must've been when The Governor had her captive again. When he really gave it to her for trying to escape. When Rick got word at the prison that she was being tortured and would be killed if he didn't do something about it. When Michonne and Daryl stood their ground and said they would be going for Andrea whether he liked it or not. When he knew he couldn't NOT go back for her, either.

The pages became wrinkled, stained. He turned them, one after the other. They were all blank. But then the entries began again, the pages stained with dirt and red streaks. Blood, he realized quickly. And the only two words written on those pages terrified him. Made his skin crawl with goosebumps. Pages upon pages. And all she wrote in those pages:

_Not safe. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe. __Not safe. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe._ _Not safe. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe._ _Not safe. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe._ _Not safe. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe._  


It went on and on in every page,_ not safe, _and Rick felt like vomiting. What had she been going through, then? He'd taken her back, and what had he done to her? What sick things had he done to her? Andrea had been such a strong force, one of the smartest people he had ever known.

These pages... they were something out of a psychiatric hospital.

_Not safe_.

Just over and over again. _Not safe_ like she was begging someone to help her. _Not safe_ like she knew she was going to die, but wasn't in the state of mind to verbalize it. _Not safe_ like that was it for her, like she was saying goodbye.

He felt tears in his eyes, wondering what kind of monster could ever hurt such a small creature. She looked so small even in that bed that he just wanted to reach for her. How could he let this happen? Why did he let her go back? Why did he even hesitate to go for her when Milton came to the prison. Why didn't he ever talk to her at the farm? Why didn't he try to make her a part of his life?

If he had, maybe he would've gone back for her at the farm. Maybe he would've found her and none of this would've happened. She'd be with the group, smiling, laughing, instead of in here, dying and going crazy. How could he let this happen?

He wiped his tears, sniffing and closing his eyes. He opened them and looked at the pages, he had to. He needed to punish himself somehow. Just _not safe_ over and over again.

And then a blank page.

But on the next page he saw something.

_Here. Not here._

He looked up at her with a frown, wondering when she wrote this. I had to be after Woodbury, which meant she wrote it here. Recently. But when? Carol was with her day and night, Andrea barely moved. They were constantly monitoring her, fretting over her every move.

But this had to had been recent. He turned on the other page.

_Carol. Love. Hair.  
_

And then he knew they had to be recent. Carol was love, of course Carol was love. And Carol sat with her all day, stroking her hair. _She likes it when I do this_, Carol had told him once. Was she writing these things to remind herself? To keep herself anchored? But when? It only made sense that she was writing at night, when Carol was sleeping. It had to be at night and he smiled.

_Michonne. Broke it._

Her relationship with Michonne was broken, and he knew she blamed herself for it. Michonne accused Andrea of choosing a man over her, and this was her regret. Maybe some day she'd write something different about Michonne. He hoped so. Michonne had been in such agony when she found out what the Governor had done to Andrea. He knew there was still a thorn there in her paw, but hopefully she would get over it eventually.

_Maggie. The horses. _

The farm. Rick smiled. She was slowly trying to bring herself back. Maggie had saved her life while riding a horse.

_Glenn. Baby._

The baby brother she always wanted. Before Michonne, Glenn had been Andrea's closest friend. They'd spend time together at the farm, making each other laugh. Perhaps Andrea always reminded Glenn of his sisters, and ever the big sister, Andrea had taken to Glenn.

_Daryl. Can't find it._

He read it over and over again. He wondered what she meant. He wondered if it was about Sophia, about Daryl's inability to find the young girl. Maybe. Daryl was the hunter of the group, the man who went out there to find something and bring it back. Can't find it. Perhaps she'd counted on Daryl to bring back something for her, something Daryl couldn't bring her and he thought of the day they found her, broken and bleeding over the Governor.

_Judith. Shane. Lori. Still alive._

He winced at this, but how could he blame her? He wasn't a fool, that baby looked nothing like him. He loved her dearly, she was his daughter, but he knew better, and Andrea knew better, and in trying to keep her mind together she'd somehow twisted, that if Judith is alive, Lori and Shane are alive, too.

_Hershel. Help._

Hershel had patched her up, given her pain killers, sown the scars on her face. Hershel sat by her practically every second of that first day, monitoring her, reading to her, even though she spent most of he time sleeping. Hershel was her healer. Hershel - help. Hershel was her ticket to life and he wasn't surprised.

_Rick. Safe._

His smile dropped, and he read the words over and over. He felt guilty again, wondering. How could she think this? How could she put those two together? He'd left her at the farm, he let her go back to Woodbury. He abandoned her when she put a knife to the Governor's throat. He felt nauseous just thinking about how many times he'd let her down in the past. The night he brought her back he made her a vow that he would never let anybody else harm her, that he'd keep her safe.

Maybe it was that. Had she heard him that night? She'd been pumped with drugs and was passed out. Maybe in her infinite humanity and goodwill she didn't blame him. Maybe it wasn't about how many times he'd failed her in the past, but the way she felt when he was around, the way she knew, that as long as he had a breath in his body, she, and the group, would always be safe.

He looked at her and got out of his chair, bringing it over with him. He sat in front of her and stroked her arm. She didn't stir, but he knew now, knew what a sneaky little thing she was.

"Are you awake?"

She didn't move at first, she must've been asleep after all. But then he called her name, and slowly her eyes opened. They were still dull and she didn't seem to be in there anymore, but he knew she was. Maybe very deep, very far away, but in there nonetheless.

She looked up at him and Rick smiled. He showed her the journal, and her eyes drifted down to it. She didn't seem surprised to see it and he wasn't surprised by her reaction, or lack thereof. She didn't react to anything these days.

"Did you write this? This last page? Here at the prison?"

He knew there was no use asking, but he still looked for a reaction. She looked at the page, and then brought up her hand to it. Rick watched her fingers. They hovered over the page, moving up, until they landed on the first name, where they lingered.

"Carol?" he said. "Do you want me to get Carol?"

She didn't react to his question, but then her eyes moved and her fingers moved as well, scanning the words, like she needed to see all those names, like the names were almost more important than their presence. She looked up and down, until they finally settled on the last name. Her index finger landed on Rick, while her middle finger slightly trembled over the word next to it.

When she looked at him he felt his eyes fill with tears.

"Yeah, we're safe," he said and he saw something in her eyes as well. His heart broke and he pushed the chair away. He knelt in front of her and kissed the side of her head, keeping her close, his fingers comforting her arm. "You're safe."

He knew he couldn't promise he could keep her safe forever. You can't promise something like that, not in this new world. But he promised himself that he would try. That he would never leave her again, that he would never again see her walk into danger and do nothing about it. That for as long as she was alive and he was able to, he'd keep her safe, that she never again would have to go through the nightmare she just went through.

He felt her move, and saw her reaching for the journal. Rick watched her carefully, and when her finger taped the word _Hair_, he chuckled and turned to her.

"Sneaky," he said and could've sworn he saw her smile a little, but it was already dark. "I'm not as good as Carol." But he tried anyway. He sat there and stroked her hair until he felt her fall asleep. He stayed there a while longer, with the journal in his other hand. He'd read it in hopes that he could figure out a way to fix her, bring her back.

But he only learned that she didn't need him. She didn't need them. She was trying to heal herself the best way she knew how. By reminding herself over and over who they were. And she would do it, he knew that now.

Half an hour later, Rick got up and put her journal back in her bag, and left it where he knew she could reach it that night. He saw the pen then, on the mattress, and he smiled. He almost wrote her name at the bottom of the page, but didn't. When Andrea came back, she could do it herself, and she'd write more than one word next to her name.

She'd write about how she survived.

The End


End file.
